


tipping point

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: But it’s not intense, Depression, M/M, Mental Illness, Scratching, Self Harm, jeffmads - Freeform, mentions of self harm, talk of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:11:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: James' personal tipping point was nearing. The point when the flood gates would open and he'll fling over the edge, headfirst into an abyss of something he could already tell he was not going to like.James Madison's tipping point was approaching. And he wouldn't be happy to see it arrive.





	tipping point

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know what this is, don’t ask me

James Madison was always a slightly awkward kid, at least that's what he thought. Every other person in the room seemed to be put together, always perfect.

He had hair that stuck up the wrong way, chubby cheeks and ears that seemed to stick out slightly.

Thomas always said he looked perfect but Thomas couldn't be trusted on matters like this. The person in question was sitting across from him, feet tucked beneath his thighs, deep inside whatever he was looking at on his laptop.

He was in Thomas' house with the heating turned up as high as possible with a few blankets on Thomas' ridiculously soft couch, just thinking while the tv was on, the volume turned down low, just the way James liked it.

It was relaxing and quiet, the only sounds that someone was able to hear were the noises of Thomas typing something quietly and James occasionally sniffling into a handkerchief.

Thomas caught his eye and gestured to his laptop. "I have homework." He explained shortly, before glancing back at it, leaving James out of the loop once more.

It was ridiculous. He could handle people not keeping an eye on him, he can handle not having attention on him all the time. He liked it when people were focused on him, but only slightly. Too much and he couldn't breathe, he'll be trapped and his breathe would be stuck in his throat until he would escape somewhere and chug a glass of water and count to ten.

He attempted to shove his feet deeper into the blanket and Thomas stretched over and tucked him in better, mumbling something before planting a kiss on his forehead. Platonically, of course, because Thomas Jefferson would never date someone like James.

Thomas yawned and James' eyes flickered to his.

"You might want to go to sleep." James suggested, keeping his tone light so Thomas wouldn't become annoyed or frustrated.

Thomas shook his head, his curly hair flying around his face. "No. You don't like being down here alone and you don't like being anywhere else."

James shifted, uncomfortable. He disliked being a burden, he hated stopping Thomas from doing something. All because his stupid brain couldn't handle something out of the ordinary, like him and Thomas being downstairs at 3am, him watching that shitty tv that only airs at such an early time, while Thomas did some work he had put off earlier.

"You don't have to do anything for me." James said, ignoring the way Thomas glanced at him worriedly, his expression coated in confusion and something else James could tell. He couldn't care enough, really.

Thomas' frown deepened and he leaned over, taking James' hand in his. "James, are you okay?"

He didn't respond.

"James?"

—

Thomas laughed at something that showed up on his phone. He had adorable socks, pastel blue ones that James swore were his. A bright light from somewhere outside lit up his features, and his eyes were actually glittering with delight.

It was evening and they decided to spend a day together despite James' half hearted protests. They went to the beach then out for dinner, and then they finally ended up in Thomas' living room once again, wearing comfy pyjamas and listening to songs on the violin that Thomas had recorded earlier.

"James." He nudged him.

James hummed, absent minded, twisting around to face him, already engrossed in whatever he had to say.

Thomas always had that effect on people, he somehow had the ability to make everyone listen before he even made a sound. He never had to scream because the world paused and held their breathe, just for him.

And for that, James loathed him. Well, not really. It was more of an intense jealousy, there were so many things that Thomas had and could do that James would kill to possess for just a second, see what he could do.

He tried not to think about how it would feel to be like Thomas, those thoughts usually led him down a dark road that he struggled to get out of.

Those thoughts were the ones that kept him up far longer than anything should have, those thoughts were the ones that led him to scratch his arm and chew his lower lip until it gave up and bled.

"We need to get ready for bed," Thomas said, startling him. "I have your spare toothbrush and I can sleep in the guest room."

"I can sleep in the guest room," James mumbled, already sleepy. "I am a guest, aren't I?"

His vision was blurred and he could feel his eyelids drooping every once in a while. He had to stay awake for Thomas, he was going to say something and it might be important.

Thomas reached over, lifting him up slightly before dropping him again. "You've got to get up, Jelly Bean. Brushing your teeth before bed is a very good idea. Bath?"

Huh. It was a little important. James could think a little clearer now. He ignored the nickname and he really didn't want Thomas to see him naked in a bath, he didn't want him to despise him a little more. He brought his knees to his chin and settled his chin on them.

"Thomas, do you hate me?" He asked, before he could fully process his words.

Thomas paused. "What?"

"Nothing. I wasn't thinking clearly," he lifted up an arm. "'M tired."

"I can see that," Thomas shifted, moving closer to him. "James Madison. Promise me that if anything is wrong, you'll tell me and we'll fix it together. Promise me."

Silence.

Thomas stared at him, his brows furrowed. "James. Promise me."

"I-I promise." James said, his voice frail and weak. He already knew he was eventually going to break his promise. But right now, he didn't care at all.

Thomas seemed to know that too because he simply frowned again before lifting James up and carrying him to the bathroom.

—

"Are you okay?"

James shrugs lightly, standing up and stretching. "Pretty much, yeah. I'm just a little bit tired, that's all.

Thomas' lips curve into a small smile. "Too tired to dance with me?"

James tilts his head slightly, about to ask him what was up with the dancing thing when Thomas turned on his phone and begun scrolling through something.

"Are you just going to leave it at that?" James asked, mildly irritated, but not really. You couldn't really be mad at Thomas.

Even Alexander Hamilton who swore that he hated Thomas only fought with him out of a habit that he couldn't be bothered to even attempt to break. Thomas admitted that he only rolled with Hamilton's sniping and insults.

Thomas brushes some hair out of his eyes. "No. I'm getting some of my music."

"Oh," his voice comes out toneless so he clears his throat. "Which one?"

"Moonlight Sonata." he answers, a smile on his face.

"Is it dance material?" James asks him, watching as he stands up and toes off his fuzzy slippers, leaving him in his ankle socks.

"It is." He responds and presses play.

Thomas stands in front of James and grabs his hands, fully prepared to lead him in a waltz. He instructs him on how to move, breathless against his ear, chin on his shoulder and James wishes everything could stay like this, the world would pause and allow them to keep on dancing, to just keep on dancing.

And then Thomas leans back, looking James in the eye before leaning forward and capturing his lips in a slow kiss.

Thomas' mouth moves almost lazily against his and he could feel his heart beating against his chest, louder and brighter than anything else he was feeling at the moment, maybe except for his best friend's lips against his.

Thomas pulled back, digging his chin back into his shoulder. "What is this?"

James took a deep breathe, wrapping his hands around Thomas' body and saying what was needed to be said. "I want to be your boyfriend. What about you?"

"Being your boyfriend sounds spectacular," Thomas answers, pulling him closer. "Jemmy, can I ask you something?"

"Of course." He responds, his voice tight. He can almost sense what was going to happen next.

"James, are you sure you're okay?"

It all happens so quickly. James pulls himself out of Thomas' arms so quickly, he shoots back a few feet. Thomas looks almost hurt before his face neutralises and he takes a few slow steps towards James.

Thomas looked confused. "Jem—"

"Get away from me!" James shrieks, leaning back.

Thomas froze, took a few steps backwards. "Okay," he took a few deep breathes. "Are you alright right now? Do you need anything?"

James nodded. His head felt like someone stuffed cotton wool inside of it. "Just take slow steps. Please."

Thomas nodded quickly, made his way over to James and wrapped his arms around him. James tried to stifle his sobs but they all came pouring out and his tears made a wet stain on Thomas' expensive shirt.

"You're okay. You're okay. You're okay." Thomas repeated over and over again, as if saying it would make it come true.

James' personal tipping point was nearing. The point when the flood gates would open and he'll fling over the edge, headfirst into an abyss of something he could already tell he was not going to like.

James Madison's tipping point was approaching. And he wouldn't be happy to see it arrive.

—

They were baking. Baking. James almost couldn't believe it.

Thomas' hair was covered in flour and he occasionally shook it, letting it fall out. He was also sneaking little lumps of cookie dough out of the bowl when he thought James wasn't looking.

"Remind me why we're doing this again." James said, wiping his hands on a paper towel.

Thomas grinned. "Because you deserve a treat and chocolate chip cookies are lovely."

He frowned. "I deserve a treat? Thomas, you know that I haven't done a single thing."

"You survived college, didn't you, love?" He said, absently taking another scoop of cookie dough, laughing quietly to himself as James failed to swat him again.

James snorted. "I almost died of exhaustion and my health hasn't been the same since."

"But you're not dead." Thomas said simply, knocking hips with him.

Oh, he wished.

Thomas grinned at him once more, scooping more cookie dough and nudging it against James' lips. James opened his mouth and hummed in satisfaction. Maybe this would be the first time he'll bake something edible.

He told Thomas that and Thomas laughed again. "Everything is edible, my dearest Jemmy. Don't give me that look."

"Not my fault it's a terrible nickname, I'm not your dearest." He mumbled.

"As I was saying," he started talking again. "Everything is edible, it's just a matter of how many times you can eat it. For example, once."

James laughed at that before crouching down and placing the tray of cookies into the oven. "Now, we wait."

Thomas nodded and they sank into an easy silence. After a while, Thomas decided to speak up again.

"Jemmy," he placed his hand over James'. "If anything is wrong, tell me. Please."

James groaned. This again. He was perfectly fine. Messed up intrusive thoughts didn't really count, everyone had them, didn't they. Yes, everyone had them, they just learned to mask them. He had to mask his too.

He looked Thomas in the eye and told him the truth. "I'm alright." At least what he thought was the truth.

—

“Walk?”

James nodded. “Sure. I’m not a dog, by the way.”

Thomas grinned, already putting on his shoes. “You say that but I swear I saw you eating dog treats the other day in Laf’s house.”

James looked horrified. “No I di— stop laughing!”

They both left James’ little apartment and went to the park. They sat at the edge of the lake and James brought out a bag he was going to feed the ducks little pieces of broccoli.

“Why broccoli?” Thomas asked, peeking into the bag.

“Bread is bad for them.” James said, throwing a piece of broccoli near one of the ducks.

Thomas reached into the bag and brought a piece to his lips. James leaned over and smacked it out, laughing when he howled in mock pain.

“Bad Thomas. Ha! Who’s the dog now?” He taunted.

Thomas grinned. “You got me. I want to push you into the lake but you’ll get sick and probably die because of your weak immune system.”

James nodded. “College really messed me up.” He tried not to think about what it’ll feel like to die from a sickness. He really didn’t want to find out anytime soon but he couldn’t help but be curious. His weird intrusive thoughts would get the best of him soon.

He could tell Thomas right now.

He could let the words spill from his lips until his throat would be rough and sore and he knew Thomas would listen. He knew Thomas would sit up and pay attention because it was him who wanted to know, him who had been bothering him for weeks about the thing that had been messing up his mind.

“Thomas?”

Thomas’ attention wasn’t focused on him. He was too busy feeding the ducks and grinning with delight every time his throws met his target.

He looked gorgeous at a time like this and James didn’t want to ruin his beauty with his problems.

Thomas’ smile brightened. “Yeah, Jemmy?”

James shook his head, tossing a piece of broccoli. “Never mind that.”

“James?”

James swallowed, his voice strained. “Don’t you worry about me.”

He could feel Thomas’ gaze on his and he wanted to scream at him. He wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t give a flying fuck about James or his health or anything.

But he didn’t tell him. He didn’t particularly care that he didn’t, either.

—

Thomas wanted pale mint green walls.

"That's a stupid idea," James complained. "Cream coloured walls are more long term. If we paint our walls green, you'll get tired of them later."

Thomas folded his arms and turned up his nose. "No, I wouldn't. Green walls would be absolutely lovely. You just wouldn't recognised beauty if it stripped naked, tattooed 'beauty' on its forehead and begun Irish dancing on the top of our house."

James winced at his words, then focused on much better ones. Our house. They had decided to get a home together after they had both rejected the idea of marriage.

Besides, it wouldn't sit well with Thomas' career. No one knew that the two of them were dating and they wanted to keep it that way.

"Laurens invited us for dinner," James said, already giving up on the colour of the walls. "Said he wanted a double date with us."

"Double date?" Thomas asked incredulously. "Who's Laurens dating?"

James winced again, preparing himself for the blow. "Hamilton."

Thomas leaned backwards in his seat, blinking rapidly. "We aren't going to go, right?"

"We're going," James said fondly, sitting besides him. "I can actually tolerate Laurens."

"Yeah, he's pretty chill," Thomas agreed. "His boyfriend on the other hand has no chill whatsoever."

"His boyfriend reminds me of you." James said under his breath.

"What?"

James leaned sideways against the couch and took out his battered old phone, while ignoring Thomas expertly.

"What did you say?"

James hummed. "Oh, nothing." He said innocently.

"Oh, c'mere." Thomas jabbed his fingers into James' sides and begun wiggling them. Thomas leaned over him, using one of his arms to pin him down while using his other hand to tickle him.

"Cry uncle." He ordered, a vicious smile playing on his lips.

James squirmed, gasping. "Uncle! Uncle!"

Thomas grinned triumphantly, sitting back down and placing his arm on James' shoulders. "Your chub is cute."

"Is it?" James panted, still trying to recover from the tickle attack."

"It is," he agreed. "Very adorable,"  
Thomas paused before opening his mouth to speak again. "Have you considered therapy? Or getting diagnosed?"

James groaned. "I'm perfectly fine, Thomas."

"No," he said firmly. "I am not letting this slide again, you've been ducking and dodging this subject for months and I'm sick of it! Tell me what's wrong."

"Mhm," he started. "How about no?"

Thomas' frown deepened but he didn't break eye contact. James squirmed in his seat, he had two options. He could Thomas everything, how he was feeling, what he thought was going to happen.

Or he could lie his way out, fabricate untruths and make up everything that had been bothering him. He could say it was stress, a headache, stomach ache, lack of sleep.

Choices and options spun through his head and he finally settled on one.

"I'm not feeling very fine." He admitted.

Thomas' eyes lit up. "Finally, you've said it!" He cleared his throat. "Not that I'm happy that you're struggling or anything like that."

James forced out a laugh and Thomas gave him another smile.

"Can you explain everything that's been going on with you?"

James nodded. "I just feel like a mixture of being upset and feeling empty, I can't explain it. It's like I don't have a reason for doing anything. Like, I could be eating and then I'll just ask myself, 'What would happen if I just don't do this?' and I have all these horrible intrusive thoughts," He shrugged easily. "I'm not sure what's wrong with me."

Thomas looked horrified. "You've been feeling somehow. It-it's not very good. You've been miserable." His voice broke on the last word and James felt like he was going to cry.

He hummed. "Oh, I'm always miserable."

They sat in silence for a few more moments, Thomas running his hands through James’ cropped hair, Thomas occasionally pecking his forehead and whispering quiet praises, Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.

"We can get you diagnosed, if you want?" He suggested, breaking the silence.

James nodded. "That sounds... okay. Are we going to be missing dinner with Hamilton and Laurens?"

Thomas shook his head. "No. We can get you diagnosed tomorrow. I'll set up an appointment."

James flopped back onto the couch. "Ugh, appointments. Being an adult is so hard. We have time limits with unclear instructions and it's just messed up."

"I know," Thomas said, his voice soothing. "We'll get through this whole thing together, you and I. How does that sound, love?"

"It sounds brilliant." He answered and he let Thomas plant his lips on his.

This was his tipping point. And it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! kudos and comments make me happy. it’ll also make me happier if y’all would check out my other hamilton fic ‘fall from a shooting star’


End file.
